I’m not so talkative. This blog is not yet everything I had hoped it would be. Although clearly, once a month, i am reminded that it exists and I have the urge to post…something, anything, though it may not be all that interesting.
things I’ve remembered that I know:
1. the internet is not the hypochondriac’s friend.
2. envy is a very uncomfortable feeling.
3. I miss my motorcycle.
4. ignoring a problem does not make it go away or get better
5. knowing what the problem is gives one information even if one still has no clue how to solve it.
6. a smile from a woman one is infatuated with is twitterpatting.
7. i’m not as stupid as I think or as smart as I hoped.
8. hugs are priceless
9. dog spit is not tasty but it won’t kill you.
10. good mothers are special.
We’re into the third month of the year. I’m still loving the Cs. Back to work. Back to thinking that it won’t be me who will hold me up but my manager; and I know that he feels he is doing his best. Unfortunately, it just doesn’t meet my needs and leaves me frustrated more often than not.
I don’t trust that he does what he says or even tries to get the things that we ask for. I’m pretty sure he feels he knows best or that he has important information that cannot be shared with us but upon which he bases his decisions on what to tell us. I just don’t see how that is helpful. But I’m tired of fighting. tired of feeling like I’m being a nag to ask for what will help me do my job better or help improve moral. I can see how before I fell into complacency. I can see how it could happen again. I am not sure how to resolve this yet.
So, the first month of 2011 is 2 days away from being done. I am finally done with smoking. The only thing I think I might have trouble with is when other people are around. Smoking was my prop that let me not care what they might or might not think of me. With a smoke, I could concentrate on thinking about that smoke, I could maintain my confidence because with a smoke, on the edge of my tongue is a fuck you readily implied, even if I don’t have to or want to say it. And so I felt okay with myself and wouldn’t worry about the rest. It let me not be self involved in the face of my anxiety.
And I had it done. Years of thinking, waiting, wanting and thinking. And now it’s done and I swear I’m so pleased. I look different. I’m me but different. Onward to the next thing.
I want to know who I am now and who I’m going to be next. The thought excites me and I am grateful.
The thing about quitting smoking is that avoiding the immediate real discomfort of quitting bum rushes the potential long term benefits of having quit. I find it much harder to not smoke when there are no cigarettes in my pocket than I do when I have them.
As soon as I don’t have any, even though I don’t want to smoke, I find myself wanting to smoke and having to buy more. However, once I’ve bought them, the immediate urge to smoke diminishes. For instance, I had smoked my last hours before I was to let the dogs out for the final break. I wasn’t concerned about it. I even had a thought or too about having a smoke but I didn’t follow through. Yet the moment it stuck me that I didn’t actually HAVE any smokes, I NEEDED to smoke.
A new year is on it’s way; a new year is always on its way.
It’s cold outside. The temperature is below freezing and it’s beginning to rain a bit.
Panic ensues in Georgia.
I manage a depression and anxiety. I have managed it, at times successfully and at other times not quite so successfully. There are times when it impacts my day to day. and there are times when my day to day is the only thing that keeps me from shooting air bubbles into my veins.
When I am in the Pit, I know that if I can just hold on, sometimes second to second, that it will get better. Sometimes it’s not even holding on that does it, it’s scrambling to slow the slide into the abyss.
I had the thought the other day that it’s a good thing that I was born in the 20th century when they have drugs that have been improving every year. Otherwise, I’d have a hole drilled in my head and have to walk around with leeches.
Pills are better.
Sometimes I wonder about myself. I was just looking online at information about going to film school. Specifically, taking a course in screenwriting. I want to tell stories. Anyway, I was thinking about how long it would take and whether or not it would be worth it to rack up the debt and spend the time if the world is going to end in 2012 anyway.
I mean if the world ends, then screw the debt. But then who is really going to be interested in my screenwriting? From what I can tell, zombies don’t watch TV.
The holiday season is upon us. Not even a day after Halloween, the Xmas commercials started.
The nerd in me had the opportunity to talk with an epidemiologist over breakfast. Very cool to be acquainted with a scientist.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do next. I’ve got about 40 good years left if I’m lucky. If I am really lucky all of them will be good, mobile, thinking years.
I want to be an automechanic and a lawyer; a web designer and a photographer. Only the first two do I want to do because of money. the other two because i just want to be good at them; sort of like I want to be good at piano. Except with the piano I feel like I already know that my fingers just will not do what I want them to do. They don’t stretch to hit the right keys. I can only play the music if it’s already written and even then my ability to read what is written is questionable. If I just practiced more I would be better but at what point do you say to yourself, I really am no good at this and practice won’t make me any better it will just help me maintain my current level of mediocrity. I live in the mediocre. I want to be fantastically good at something but I don’t want to have to work at it anymore.
I’m so sick of working hard. I dream of getting rid of my possessions and living in an rv with my dogs. and doing whatever I want to do. The only problem with that is I know that it wouldn’t take long for me to get really really sick of working even harder to figure out my day to day existence. I imagine that what I would really do is lay around for a couple of weeks doing absolutely as little as possible. I’d probably waste away from not eating or drinking because that is entirely too much work. Even having the dogs would be too much responsibility for how I feel. But having the dogs would be the only reason to keep getting up in the morning. They depend on me. I invited them in and I could not abandon them because I got tired of taking care.
I wonder if those thoughts are a prelude to a depression or if it’s just clear indication that there is a void in my life that I don’t have any clue how to fill.